The driver was a ghoul as I’d hoped, so I explained the situation to him. He knew Mo’Lock and understood the immediacy of the dilemma. He burned rubber and we headed toward Whitney Green at seventy miles an hour. I introduced the heads as I unwrapped them, but the driver already knew ’em. Cozy community.

Ten minutes later we came to a screeching halt just outside the entrance of Whitney Green. I shot out of the cab without paying, leaving the severed heads behind. The driver agreed to take care of them. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but then again I didn’t care.

“Just save Mo’Lock,” he told me. “That would be payment enough.”

I sprinted to the edge of the burnt pit that was once Cain’s home. Now it was a huge hole, bubbling and foaming with slimy, surging brain matter. It spread out before me like a lake of frothy, stinking pulp. I scanned the surface for any sign of movement among the floating debris. There was nothing.

A horrible sinking feeling began to well in my gut. I felt panicky. Where the fuck was Mo’Lock?!

I could hear sirens wailing in the distance and closing fast. When the cops saw this, they’d do their best to cover it up, meaning I sure as shit didn’t want to be there. I got panicky. Pacing the edge of the hole, I cupped my hands and began to yell.

“MOOOO’LOCK!” I hollered and repeated even louder, “MOOO’LOCK!”

From the shadows somewhere behind me, a figure shifted. “I’m not deaf, you know. I’m right here.”

I spun on my heels. Mo’Lock stepped from the shadows, dripping pink slime.

I ran over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. “You crazy fucking ghoul! You scared the crap out of me!”

Mo’Lock smiled.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, gruesome.” I could feel the adrenaline fading quickly and all the pain beginning to return. “I just need someone to get me to the hospital.”

27

I dreamt about terrible pain shooting through my ass, and being chased by rolling dumpsters overflowing with decapitated heads. After that, I woke in a hospital room bandaged from head to toe. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. I could see my arm was in a support, dangling above my bandaged torso. Beside me I heard a beeping apparatus that I suspected did little more than raise the per day rate.

My head was wrapped in bandages and gauze so thick that I could hardly lift it to see whether I was alone. I used every ounce of strength to raise my head off the pillow and was rewarded with the sight of a lumpy figure slumped in a chair next to the window. It was Blout, fast asleep.

With a great deal of effort I got my hand on the bedpan so comfortably rammed under my ass. I dragged it out to the edge of the bed where I let it fall to the ground. There was a huge clanging noise. Blout shot to his feet, reaching frantically for his holster. I had just enough energy to chuckle. Then I passed out again. This time I dreamt of nothing, and that was fine by me.